


Desire: Unexpected.

by Camfield, Xobit



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3129716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camfield/pseuds/Camfield, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xobit/pseuds/Xobit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bluestreak always knew it wasn't his processor that would get him out of trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mental Coersion

Bluestreak was bound to a chair somewhere deep in the Nemesis. The stasis cuffs he had on were sapping most of his motor control, so he wasn't sure that he'd be able to even run if he'd been free.

All he could do was wait, and hope that whoever they sent down here was willing to talk.

Talk, he could do.

**

The young mech going by the designation ‘Bluestreak’ was a somewhat unusual prisoner. For one thing there were very few young mechs left on either side of this fight, for another it seemed he would not, or could not, stop talking. Soundwave was fascinated; he had to admit that, but was also somewhat annoyed.

Interrogations were not his usual work unless there were something really important or they had one of the Autobot leaders in their grasp. However with Vortex off base he was the only one who could get information from the sniper within a reasonable amount of time.

His fascination with the young mech would make it needlessly difficult though.

Walking into the room the mech was being held in he paused to blink for a moment, the slouched position and the smile was rather not what he had expected from a prisoner of any kind! 

Soundwave. They'd sent down Soundwave.

Bluestreak could work with that, especially if the rumors of telepathy were real. It was a strong mech who tried to understand the inner workings of his processor, something even Ratchet had a hard time doing when it was time for processorial repairs.

"Hi! I guess you're here to interrogate me, not that I really want to be interrogated but I suppose that you wouldn't really care about that either way would you. Not that I don't care, because I do, I'm just curious as to why you're the one here. Not like last time, when they used Vortex and I had to be put into a room with padding so I wouldn't hurt myself but Ratchet says that I'm as better as I'm going to be so I might as well take that and run with it!"

As he talked he watched Soundwave move. There was a grace, an economy of movement that presented itself there.

It was hot.

No, this was not what the navy mech was used to. Mechs that Soundwave confronted usually looked grim, more than ready to fight the intrusion into their processors. Sometimes they hummed at they attempted to fill their processors with nonsense, poetry or songs to block him out. This wall of words were more effective by far, knocking his focus from his task to the mech speaking and the topic that was being shared with him.

Perhaps it was also that it was about Vortex, a mech he disliked for his crudeness and the sheer overwhelming filthiness of his processor touch. Vortex was a sadist, there was nothing wrong with that however he was an insane sadist… Someone who did not care who he caused pain to, or how, as long as he got his fix. Soundwave avoided him and his victims when he could.

Resolutely he gathered his thoughts and stepped up to the young mech, reaching for his head to create a physical connection. Speaking was unnecessary, he had a job to do.

"I can't tell you that you're going to like being in there, but I guess you'd know more about that then I would. Like, the last time that I even knew of a telepath was back on Cybertron, and he was a nice one but sometimes even nice mecha aren't all that nice and he got into something he shouldn't have and it ended up that he was really not very nice at all but it wasn't because he didn't want to be but because being a telepath made him kind of insane. He couldn't turn it off, so he just soaked up all the yucky thoughts from everyone and then just broke. He was my friend, though in the end he wasn't much of anything. I'm wondering, how you cope with all of the thoughts? Do you turn it off, or block out everyone?"

He could feel Soundwave, the heat of his frame and buzz of a coiled field. The hand reached for him and he gave a grin, then tilted his helm forward to meet it.

\--You know, being in here isn't all it's cracked up to be, Sounders. You might want to get out while you can, Primus knows I've tried, but on the chance you're more interested in staying...--

He let an image file fill his processor, one of him from someone elses point of view, and gave an audible vent. --I look good covered in transfluid, don't I?—

Soundwave frowned behind his mask at the unending stream of words, but did not let it deter him from the reading he needed to attempt.

The image though, he jerked back as if burned, field anything but calm for all it was still held tight to his chassis… and his chassis was hot, he had no chance at preventing his cooling fans from spinning into overdrive. That type of defense had never been used against him before…

"Oh I'm so sorry! Things just pop up in there and I can't always control them but I hope that whatever you were looking for wasn't too far down. The deeper you get the more I'm not sure I can control what you see, you know? It's all a mess, not that I haven't tried to clean it up a bit but that doesn't always happen the way it's supposed to you know?"

Bluestreak settled down a bit more in his bonds. "Though, I can't say that isn't a good look for you. All shocked and bothered."

The look he pinned to Soundwave's visor was brief, but intense. "I told you, you don't want to go in there."

“Will take that under advisement,” but he still reached again, determined to find out what he had come for. Which was really nothing but whether or not there was anything to come for at all. Ignoring his own state was not a problem, but the images were a problem, they heaped heat upon heat…

How could such a young mech have such experience? Soundwave felt like a virgin in comparison and he was not a virgin!

“Discontinue this! Will not gain you your freedom.”

\--Freedom is so subjective. I've never been free, so I suppose that doesn't matter all that much.-- This time the image that came was from his own optics, looking down at his hand as it wrapped around an erect spike.

\--Sure you don't want to play? I don't know anything, but as long as you're down here...—

“Desist!” he absolutely refused to talk with the young mech processor to processor. Bluestreak was not someone he wanted, should, be intimate with, no matter what his chassis told him it wanted. No matter what the field he could not help touching with his own told him the younger mech would prefer.

However, perhaps he should consider finding a lover, if he could be this affected by erotic images and an eager, willing mech…

Bluestreak’s field finally caught a hold in Soundwave's and he twined them together. Melting his own arousal and flooding the area around him, saturating it. --I can feel you, you know. I'm not telepathic, but I don't suppose I need to be, not with as much heat as you're putting out.--

With a click, his valve panel opened to give a glimpse of lubricating valve. Not enough to drip, not yet, but getting closer. --Just think. You sliding into me, any way you want. Push me to the floor and aft up. Or let me suck you off right now. Come on, Sounders, are they gonna know?—

The low growl that escaped him was not filtered by the vocal filter in his mask, and so came out rich and tonal, more than descriptive of the arousal he felt. His battle mask and visor retracted and the light resting of his hand against the smaller mech’s helmet became a grip as he tilted it back to claim the dermas in an angry kiss.

Soundwave was angry at himself and at the Autobot for arousing him. But he was not unaccustomed to punishing others for his fallacies and he did want the mech. Or more to the point he wanted to frag him through the floor, dirty him up… get them both off.

“Fool!”

\--I am not yours to have!—and Bluestreak was not his to take despite the offer, despite the fact that he was going to do so.

\--I never claimed you.--

The smaller mech gave as good as he got, engine growling as he pressed his glossa up into Soundwave's mouth. His hands clenched, unable to move from where they were, and his thighs strained against the bindings to part. There wasn't enough space for Soundwave between them, not as he was.

\--But I will, if that's what you want.-- An image of Soundwave bound to a berth filled his helm, with Bluestreak riding him.

Arousal burned away the last of his control, charge leaping and his field finally flaring out to get as much contact with Bluestreak’s as was possible. He was not adverse to being bound, though it would not happen this time. He knelt, ignoring his own thought and removed the binds on the smaller mech’s legs, parting them and pulling him forward on the chair so he could bury his face between them.

He wanted him to burn too!

Bluestreak jolted and gasped when Soundwave buried his face against him. For a klick, his processor went blank. True non processing as the heat and EM field drenched him, seduced him.

\--Within me buried and slick and wet and warm and oh please right there don't stop oh don't stop--

He sent every sensation that Soundwave drug out of him back into his field. Sharing it. Doorwings straining against their bindings, trying to flick and flare outward as pleasure shot through his frame.

There was no way he could have stopped now, Soundwave acknowledged that to himself even as he soaked up the desire, the feelings he created and the begging. The young mech was far too willing to give himself over to lust… where all Autobots like this? He could hardly imagine that, no other processor he had been in had so willingly given him images of debauchery or swamped him with self created arousal for his prison guard to frag him silly.

But there were mechs that he now could not help but imagine under him, Blaster… Jazz… Prowl. Or the other way around, him under Optimus Prime, Skyfire… that young flier, Silver-something? What if they would be as agreeable? No one among the Decepticons was agreeable, at least not on this level. Interfacing was as much a fight for dominance as anything else…

Soundwave could honestly admit to miss uncomplicated interfacing, the act of giving oral without being sneered at for being weak. Just having the pleasure returned like Bluestreak was doing now, giving back the feel of his glossa teasing the soft folds of his valve, the hidden nodes, external and internal.

\--So much want and heat and please take me make me wait I want your spike your mouth your everything please please please--

Bluestreak could feel each and every movement of that glossa within him like a streak of fire. Burning and roiling and even if this was just a one time thing he'd take what he could get and turn it back tenfold with his field. His frame tried to arch, to press against the navy mech, to reach for the sensations that kept sensors tripping left and right.

\--Don't know how much I want you hot and strong and sexy over me under me open and begging for me begging for you just please let me overload oh so hot I don't want to let you go--

His freed legs tried to wrap around Soundwave, to pull him in closer.

\--Do it, let me taste it!—Bluestreak was heady, his arousal like fine thick high grade freely shared… he wanted to taste his overload, inside and out. Feel it wash over him, taste the rush of lubricant on his glossa… take him while his valve still spasmed with it.

Alluring as the smaller mech bouncing on him was he knew he had to contend with this… didn’t he?

Soundwave's voice in his helm jolted him into overload with a roaring engine and a loud wail. Legs jerking and twitching, frame trying to arch backward and failing as optics rolling in their casings.

\--so much can't take want in oh primus do it want it more give me more—

Tearing himself away he yanked the smaller mech further forward on the chair and buried himself in the overload tightened valve. A vague sense of caution died fast when there was little to no resistance to his rather brutal invasion. This mech just continued to surprise him… too young for this level of experience. Or was it that he was somewhat of a prude?

\--Hard? Fast? Slow? Tell me, Bluestreak, tell me what you want,-- because he wanted to hear it, he could get addicted to the blabber, the unending thoughts.

Overload brought him down from desperation and he gave Soundwave a pretty little moan as the mech thrust into him. --What about what I want? What about if I want you to go slow and steady and hold me down even though I'm tied up and make me feel every single inch of your spike. So slow and long that everyone is going to wonder what you're doing down here and I want it to last. To last as long as you can make it last. Untill you feel like you're going to burst and I'm moaning and shaking and then I want you to fill me up with transfluid until I drip--

He tried again to wrap a leg around Soundwave. --I hope they contact you while you're fragging me, and you have to tell them with a clear voice that everything is going as planned. That you're getting exactly what you want out of me.—

Soundwave growled at that, a throaty rich growl of pure burning lust. He’d do all of that, he’d show this insolent young mech what he could do to him! That he could do it, that he wasn’t some mindless brute chasing overloads…

His anger was still there but it jumped from focus to focus, fanned the flames of lust higher instead of strangling them. Pushing him to meet the challenge, to move slow, to press the other mech into his uncomfortable chair. Forcing him to enjoy every single inch of the sopping wet valve, every ripple in the blazing em field.

It was so hard not to be able to touch, to hold on to Soundwave. He wanted to cling and kiss and rock with the other mech until they both couldn't stand any of it.

\--I want you. I want you now and again and again until the only thing that you can think of is my designation and the only thing I can think of is yours. Until we're so far spent that the only thing we can do is lay in the berth and think about how good it was and when we're going to do it again.--

He was biting his lip, gasping with each thrust. --Come on Soundwave, oh come on and that feels so good your spike is perfect and so hot and I just want it inside of me forever.--

Soundwave’s field drug in the pleasure offered, tasting it, melting it down into everything and anything he could. Pure heat. Pure liquid heat.

\--You are a prisoner,-- but he was no longer denying to himself that he wanted the young mech in his berth. In his berth, on his desk, on his consol, against his door, his wall, on the floor… in the wash rack. Under him, on top of him, taking him, taking his spike, again, again, again and again!

But he was a prisoner, he was bound to this chair… it wasn’t Soundwave’s place to decide what happened to him, he was just here to read his processor for anything useful. He wasn’t supposed to be fragging him, slow or fast.

It felt so good though, so right, so needed. And he knew that Bluestreak meant his words, processor to processor there were no lies. In this moment the young mech meant every word, wanted every promise fulfilled.

\--Don't have to be-- His mind threw up image after image of him being fragged by Soundwave. Every conceivable position, every place every everything. Of Bluestreak arched over Soundwave, his hands curled into plating. Of him on all fours, doorwings waving.

Of himself pinned into a berth by Soundwave's weight alone, fingers entwined together and holding him down while he arched and gasped beneath the navy mech. That image growing large and powerful and /there/.

\--Every day every way until my vocalizer is shorted out and then even longer than that. With other mecha or just us two until yours is as well.—

\--Have to be, not mine to claim,-- and he did keen at that, regretting it and trying to find a way to claim. Not that there was one, Bluestreak would be interrogated then used as a bargaining chip… as was the usually way with war prisoners. And he was foolish to want, what was… how was the young mech doing this to him?

Growling he claimed the soft dermas in a harsh kiss, relenting only when a brief flash of discomfort filtered through to him.

\--You don’t belong here!— in the Nemesis, in his processor…

\--Could be, if you want-- Softer feelings flickered through his field, and even surrounded by clouds of lust and thick, hot interface he weaved them in. Carefully, almost barely even tangible, but there.

That promised companionship. Courtship. Tradition. Family. Tiny, /tiny/ threads, strung out as an option.

\--I don't belong anywhere--

It was a resolute processor that drug them away from that place. Back into the feel and the now and the this. --Just here, just now, claim me how you want to claim me. No one else has to know—

He was torn in two, at the same time his focus narrowed down to the simple physical pleasure of the interface. The claim he was temporarily laying on the young grounder, a claim that wasn’t refuted or rejected.

What possible gain could be in it for Bluestreak, or the Autobots, to offer him the one thing he had always wanted? And how was it possible that they had found out, there were no telepaths among them, no one that could hack that deep into him without his knowledge. And he had never spoke of his desires, not even Megatron knew what he strived for at the end of the war.

A family, co-Creators for his war warped younglings…

Soundwave forcibly returned himself to the physical act, the pleasure of the valve rippling around his spike and the pliant dermas against his own. He had no answer to Bluestreak, nothing he had not already said.

They were nothing but prisoner and interrogator.

Yet Bluestreak wrapped him in his own brand of care and devotion. The images unending, continuous. Just as much as his words said, these pictures said something else. /Comfort, security, family, care, safety/

All the while his mouth moaned into Soundwave's own. His kisses thick with syrup, drenched with oral lubricant, words murmured against the other mecha's lips in between each kiss. Glossa tracing glyphs over glossa, over and under and inside and Bluestreak was no fool. No innocent mech who didn't understand what it was he offered.

\--So strong. Always admired you. Even if we're not on the same side, I can see that we're similar.-- /The same/ --Come on Soundwave, claim me. Make me yours right here, right now. So that even when I go back everyone will see that claim, will understand that claim.-- His frame jerked again, trying to move and still unable, --Take me like there is no war, like we're something other than enemies. ///Take Me, Soundwave///--

It was not an attack and that was why it broke his resolve. He could defend against attacks, could deflect them or turn them back on his attacker. This was just want, simple desire, admiration, wishes, dreams… he had no defense against those. Soundwave had not opened his mind to anyone but his younglings in megavorn… Not even when he swore allegiance to a young, and then sane, Megatron had he let all his defenses fall like this.

\--Mine!-- one last hard thrust and his transfluid filled what room there was left in the valve, before overflowing it. He held still for a long moment, flight engines rumbling their high pitched purr. Then he reached for the remaining bonds with shaking hands, not moving, not pulling out… just releasing the prisoner he could not keep locked up anymore.

He was a fool!

That was all Bluestreak needed to wrap himself around Soundwave. To pull him in and both of them down to the floor with a thud. His doorwings shook and flared out, opening so that when Bluestreak lay back they didn't hurt much. Drawing Soundwave down with him, gentle hands and full field that hadn't changed on ion in it's desires.

It wasn't a berth. It was dirty and covered with energon and who knew what else, but he offered to twine their fingers together anyway. Tilting up his helm for a kiss, not taking anything, just offering.

\--Yours.-- It was up to Soundwave to decide how long.

Distaste flared, the idea that his carrier should lie on this filthy floor while he- No, Soundwave shook his helmet and leaned down for a kiss. After that he pulled the smaller mech up and shifted so he was the one that lay back on the sticky floor. Still not ideal, not safe… not right…

\--Ride me,-- like he had pictured, though no bonds, no berth.

Bluestreak rolled through the switch, bracing his hands on Soundwave's abdominal plating and pulling his knee joints under him. They were already dirty, and no doubt this would grind more much into them, but all of that was ignored beyond automatic processing.

He pushed up, setting his hydraulics into a rhythm. Pistons moving, gears shifting and letting himself roll his hips against Soundwave. --Touch me?--

Doorwings quivering, throaty sounds coming from a slack mouth, and half shuttered optics faced the navy mech. Valve squeezing down whenever he took the other mech's spike in, a gasp whenever he nearly slipped out. A dance of frame and spark that he gave fully into.

Soundwave did not even think to say no, to hide the flare of greedy desire at the request. And his touching was just as greedy, exploratory as he learned the unfamiliar Praxian frame. What drew out shudders, what made his field flare, what made his doorwings move, flutter, strain. Enjoying what it made the slick valve do to his spike, and how the rhyme of Bluestreak riding him sometimes faltered and slowed, or sped up.

\--So soft, so pretty,-- not like a seeker, or another flier… not like the heavy grounders among the Decepticon ranks. Not at all like Swindle, the only mech that could really be compared to the Autobots apart from the younglings known as the Stunticons. And they were younglings, sparklings really, even more warped than his own littles.

The Praxian frame arched into the touches, hips rolling, valve clenching. Each touch burned him until he was a shuddering mass of pleasure, consuming his processing power, his words. Until only the basic remained, rudimentary glyphs and binary as he fought off overload a little longer.

\--Show me-- What you want, what I can give you.

Show him? Of course show him, Bluestreak was not a telepath either, for all his easy use of a mind link. And they were certainly not spark to spark, and would not be at any point, he would keep that firmly in processor no matter what his reproductive urges told him!

\--All of it, all you said, all you showed… stability, chaos, wonder, companionship.—

Each word brought in images. Some very obviously post war, but some very obviously not. Sharing a berth, just the two of them, then with the cassettes piled on top, newsparks with no color or features...

Sharing energon in the rec room, sharing energon at a restaurant, a walk in crystal gardens, in art museums, out in the forest.

Playing with Ravage, the flyers perched above. Holding Frenzy close and kissing his visor. Petting Ratbat. On the shooting range in the hallway in the berth room in a home in the Ark picnic in the desert in cryograss watching native fauna touching holding kissing interfacing crying laughing...

It was more and not enough, it was pleasure and ecstasy but not bliss. It was pain, pining for things that could not be, sharing dreams that would shatter in moments when reality came crashing back down on them.

Frail soap bubbles that would pop and leave him at his lord’s mercy because he would soon do something very, very stupid. No matter that Bluestreak held no value for their war efforts… but the risk of Vortex coming back before they had negotiated something with the Autobots were too great. It was a risk he could not take now, not after this.

\--All of that,-- he keened again, the loss felt as a jagged edge against the pleasure.

Bluestreak could feel the pain in that. It lanced across him, through him, and he just increased his own personal barrage. Flooding the cassette deck with every single ounce of understanding and care and compassion that he had within him to give. He let Soundwave see that he wanted, just as much as the other did. That security and family and everything whether the war was over or not. He'd give it. He'd offer his whole being.

\--Shattered spark, broken processor-- But he'd offer it anyway. Pain and love and lust and anger and happiness and there wasn't anything that he was that he wouldn't give if Soundwave wanted it.

\--//Claim. Me.//--

\--No,-- no he would not, he wanted to but he would not. There was something else he would do; for all that it might cost him dearly. And Bluestreak would help him get it done!

Soundwave wrenched free, pushing the smaller mech off him, not violently but firmly.

“No, cannot, will not,” he rose on unsteady pedes, looking down at his spike and pelvic with slightly dazed optics.

“You must go, now! I will… I will lead you out, you will cut me,” the blade he produced from his sub space was a small one, a mini bot sized weapon. Something an Autobot could have hidden on him where no Decepticon might think to look. If he hoped to survive his lord’s insane rage this was the only way… of course he might not survive Bluestreak…

Bluestreak took the blade and pressed close. Taking Soundwave's spike in hand and stroking slowly, firmly. "You can. I'm offering."

He hitched his leg up and finally was able to wrap it around the navy mech's hip. Guiding Soundwave into him again. --I'm here, let me help you. Please,--

The blade slid over Soundwave's dock.

“You-“ the telepath’s voice hitched, and he did his best to steady them both, “you will go, Bluestreak, you will cut me and go!” maybe if they both survived long enough, if the promises still held then. But not now, they were both lucky that this room was not monitored. As lucky as most mechs held here were unlucky that it was not.

If he did not do this now, he did not know what he might do. Or what he might agree to.

A hint of something in ice blue optics, and he pulled Soundwave into a kiss. --Comm38CCeo3-- 

"You have a quarter joor."

Bluestreak raised the blade and sliced through his own main energon line.


	2. Chapter 2

By all rights Soundwave should have been able to pull away and close off as he always had before. As he had when the co-Creator of his youngling Ravage had died by the hand of a noble’s guard and he had decided to end the unfairness of the then in place system.

Things were different now. His lord had lost his mind somewhere along the vorns of the war. The enemy had turned into the mechs he had thought his own faction could become.

A young mech was dying in his arms, on his spike…

He could accept his own death this time, but not Bluestreak’s. His younglings asked no questions, simply following his orders, meeting him at the lift to the surface, leaving havoc and sabotage in their wake. Soundwave had done his best to stem the flow of energon, but he was no medic and the young mech had known how to give him no choice at all. Leaving the Nemesis behind he opened the commline he had been given, broadcasting a plea for help.

Blaster picked up the commline immediately, ::Aw, he got ta ya? Baby Blue has a way with words, don't he.::

Bluestreak lolled, his strength receding with each breem that passed. -I promise, I promise, you'll be okay, not hurt, not hurt—

::Arrival, three and a half breem, advise your medic,:: he didn’t bother with the jovial mech, he had no time for frivolities now. Or ever. If Bluestreak did not survive this was for nothing.

\--Hang on, you will be with your medic soon,-- just hang on, hang in there!

::Ratchet is standing by. I assume ya know we're gonna have ta put ya in the brig...:: Blaster said, ::Unless ya the one who needs the medic.::

Bluestreak's processing capacity was dipping into negative functionality. There were no longer any words or glyphs that came across, just vague feelings and emotions. Strong ones, trying to project safety and security still.

::It is expected,:: just as he expected to be tried and judged before Bluestreak even regained consciousness. It did not matter, they would spare his younglings… it was more than Megatron would.

He touched down as gently as he could outside the Ark and gave up his burden willingly, allowing them to cuff him, remove his weapons and lead him away. All without speaking a word, all while keeping his optics on Bluestreak for as long as he could.

********

When Bluestreak floated back to consciousness, it was to Prowl and Ratchet discussing Soundwave beside his berth.

"That was stupid. Stupid and absolutely unnecessary and I can't believe you did that." Ratchet grumbled as he started disconnecting monitors. It had been a sliced line, and a very precision cut at that. Patching Bluestreak up and refueling him had been simple enough, "At least you knew what you were cutting."

Prowl put his hand on Bluestreak's shoulder. "That was dangerous. You had no idea that he would bring you here. You could have offlined."

Bluestreak gave him a twisted grin, "You weren't there. He wanted, Prowl, and I had the chance to offer him something. Something that would change the war."

He pulled himself up, "I need to go see him, please."

Prowl vented, but led the way to the brig.

 

*********

 

Contrary to what he had though nothing had happened other than that they had put him in a cell. Compared to the cells on the Nemesis it was even a nice one. No privacy, but it had a berth. He could deal with being stared at, muttered about and even being talked to as no one seemed inclined to actually do him any harm.

What was much worse was that he had tried multiple times to reach for Bluestreak without any answer. Of course there was no answer… but he could not help trying, and getting more and more anxious as his mind met nothing but the general buzz of many processors in one place. His younglings were restless too, but he kept them docked inside him, refusing to let them leave least the Autobots would demand them imprisoned separately from him.

So he was waiting… sitting on the berth and staring at his hands. He did not even twitch when the sound of pede steps confirmed that a group of mecha was walking up the aisle between cells. If it was his judgment coming he didn’t need to see it.

Though all that happened was the cell door was shut and locked, and Bluestreak walked over to Soundwave. Standing close enough to touch, if the navy mech wanted.

He didn't want to make presumptions, especially ones based on a moment of pleasure that could have been construed as weakness. This was still a mech who had, above all, been an enemy a short time before.

The color of the pedes stopping just within his visual range was familiar, burned into his mind as was the feel of that very same mech’s mind.

\--You are well?-- he did not move, did not look up. Soundwave had no idea what he expected or what was expected of him. Had no idea if the promises made were still real now, or if he had been as foolish as he felt he was.

Bluestreak leaned close enough for their plating to touch. --Are you?--

It was an entirely insufficient question. Interaction. He wanted to tuck himself up against Soundwave and offer that quiet comfort. To twine their fingers together and nudge them together.

But he didn't. He wouldn't. Not without permission. He understood what it was like to have your power, your decisions, taken away from you.

\--I promised, and I mean it. You won't be hurt, you won't.—

\--I am shaken,-- what else could Soundwave call it? He was shaken to the very core of his spark, bewildered by the actions that had torn away his choice, exposed the raw wrongness of his current existence. Exposed all the things he had refused to examine, to think over, to analyze.

He was however not alone…

\--I will not be harmed, what about you?— he reached up, barely touching one of the blue grey hands, refusing to notice that his hand shook.

Bluestreak took Soundwave's hand, letting their fingers interlock, and stroked his thumb across soothingly. --I'm sorry.-- 

He sent over waves of gratitude, field and processor both alike. --Not for what I did, but the method I used.-- He was sorry for jarring Soundwave. Not for offering him something, but for bartering his existence with it.

\--They might be angry with me, put me on extra work shifts and tighter rations, but they won't hurt me. That isn't how we do things, here.—

Soundwave had known, but he had also needed it confirmed. The Prime was not Megatron, the mechs here not Decepticons… how was he expected to adapt? What would they demand of him, could he give whatever prize they would demand for his freedom?

Finally lifting his helmet he looked at the mechs outside his cell, fingers tightening a little desperately on Bluesteak’s.

“What do you need from me,” information he could give, easily at that though they would have to use it quick to get anything much out of it. Though maybe not that quick, his younglings had done their very best to leave chaos behind.

It was Prowl who spoke. "That depends on you. If you wish to defect, then any and all information will be recorded and put to use as soon as possible toward ending our war. You would not be allowed to join in battles, not until we have a thorough debriefing and meeting with Optimus Prime, but until then we would ask you to work here. To support the Autobot Army." He paused, then went on, "If you wish to be considered neutral, then we can only ask for that information anyway. You would be confined to specific areas of the ship, for security reasons."

Bluestreak butted in, "Either way, you'd be safe and fueled. All of you."

"So long as you do not breech the trust that Bluestreak has given you, we are more than willing to extend our servo to do the same." Prowl said, "However, you would be under constant surveillance outside of quarters. That is something that you understand as a necessity, for everyone's safety."

“Information will be freely given,” but join the Autobots? He was not sure he was ready for that, however much he recognized that the Autobots were far more what he had strived for by joining the Decepticons.

“Surveillance and confinement is acceptable,” not that he had a choice, but he understood and accepted.

\--Will I see you?— that question was plaintive…

"Thank you." Bluestreak said it audibly, for everyone's sake.

Prowl, too, nodded his helm, "I will set up the meeting with the Prime. You will be escorted there within 10 breems." He gave Bluestreak a /look/, but motioned to Ratchet and nodded to Ironhide as he left.

\--Every cycle, if you want.-- A shade of shyness came through his field, --They're already converting one of the extra rooms for you and your cassettes. Plenty of room, hopefully.—

\--How much was acting,-- he was asking, but it was not a question, it was resignation. He did not expect the truth of the moment to be the truth of forever, or even the truth of a vorn.

Soundwave was if nothing else a practical mech, and while he needed reassurance he also needed truth. Bluestreak had offered so much in the heat of the moment, but it was nothing but that as genuine as it had been then. He would understand it not being honored now… grieve for it yes, but still understand.

Bluestreak wouldn't insult him by offering a slapdash response. He knew, was sure Soundwave knew, that he hadn't been sent to the Nemesis, or even instructed to seduce or expose anybot.

And the truth of it was, he hadn't offered anything that he didn't want and desire and need for himself. It had just featured Soundwave, offered to include Soundwave.

But none of it, nothing, had been fabricated as a false offering.

He just needed to impress that to the navy mech. He wasn't here now, pretending to be someone who wanted what he'd projected.

Bluestreak WAS someone who wanted what he projected. With Soundwave, if he was willing.

It made him relax far more than that Bluestreak was willing to be in the cell with him. The promise of wanting to try, that he had been meaning what had been offered all along. There was no forever yet, no assurance it would work…

\--We will see, for now I should prepare the information your superiors will want,-- and then, then they might be allowed time to talk.


	3. Chapter 3

Bluestreak input the code on the completed quarters, offering them to Soundwave in a private databurst at the same time.

They weren't luxurious. Both time constraints and materials were still rather scarce, but it had one larger berth room, one smaller one and a sitting area. There was no energon dispenser, they would all be required to go and draw rations in the Rec Room, but there was a vid projector for one wall and a long bench to sit on.

"Sorry that we haven't gotten any padding in yet, we have to order that special from one of the textile plants that works with us. It shouldn't take too long to get in, though."

“This is sufficient,” it was far better than the cell, and larger than what he had had on the Nemesis. Padding, personal touches… such things were simply the finishing touches to a home. He was still not sure if this would be a home…

There was plenty of hostility towards him, though surprisingly not from the Prime, or Jazz or Prowl. Those he had expected to be against him with all they had in him. But they were cool, professional and on guard, not hateful. It had him off balance if he was to be honest.

“We will be comfortable here.”

The smaller mech brushed his hand over Soundwave's.

"Is there anything I can help you with? You can let out your cassettes, if you want." Bluestreak stopped himself from rambling, cutting himself off. He really didn't know what to do here. Physicality, he could offer. Affection and care, he was good at.

Small talk always turned him into a babbling mess, and his social skills were nearly just limited to propositioning somemech for the night.

In short, he had no idea what he was trying to do, for all that he was trying to do it.

Turning, Soundwave held out a hand to the younger mech, offering touch but not demanding contact. He could feel the uncertainty, but he did not judge the reason for it.

“They are not ready, still confused… uncertain,” just like him, with the difference that he was at peace with the decision that had led to this. The situation though, that he was not still in a cell, that his words had been believed? Now that confused him, and made him happy.

\--Bluestreak?—

A sigh of relief when fingers twined together. It was comfortable, intimate. It gave Bluestreak something steady to focus on instead of trying to talk his way through something.

With a vent, he pressed his frame close. He could offer this, he could give Soundwave this. It wasn't anything he didn't want, and frame to frame he could feel systems thrumming.

\--Soundwave-- It was an invitation, if he wanted.

He was still filthy… Bluestreak had been clean off by the medic, or perhaps been taken to a wash rack after his repair. Soundwave however hadn’t been so lucky and now that the smaller mech was against him he was acutely aware of his less than pristine state.

\--Yes, but… do you have wash racks?— mind to mind he could not keep the embarrassment hidden behind a vocal filter. Neither could he hide the wish to finish what they had started. 

Bluestreak gave a giggle, then pressed up into a kiss. --Yep. They're the public 'racks, but until we get your personal ones hooked up...--

There was a promise in that.

He stepped back and tugged on Soundwave's hand, walking them both to the crew wash racks. There wasn't much in the way of privacy here, but there was hot solvent and scrub brushes that lined the wall.

"I'll wash your back, if you'd like."

“Thank you,” he could not even remember when he had last had help cleaning, help that was not his cassettes that is. A distinction that was suddenly important, suddenly… meant something. Things were going so fast he felt dizzy, and yet he knew they were only going fast because he had been waiting for something to tear him loose from the cause that had been lost long ago. Anything that held more meaning than his previous position had given.

\--This almost doesn’t feel real,-- except it felt so very real. Turning on the water he hesitantly chose a brush and then stood there, feeling silly… silly, sticky and filthy.

The Praxian maneuvered Soundwave under the spray, trusting that he'd chosen the temperature most comfortable to him.

It was endearing, in a way, to watch such a powerful mech just... stop. To question reality itself. He'd done that. Questioning whether or not reality was something that he should believe because it was too good to be true or not.

So he plucked the brush from the frozen hand and grabbed one of the folded cloths, wetting it and pouring solvent on. Soundwave was dirty, and it spoke volumes of what it must have been like, living on the Nemesis. For all the water they were under, being like this told him that they didn't have resources. Soundwave hardly seemed like the kind of mech to skip cleaning if it was available. Clean frames worked better, responded better. The processor worked better when the frame was clean.

It made him wonder what else they went without.

Brush and cloth worked over plating. Carefully prising up armor plates to work a smaller, soft brush inside. Up and under and over. Every part of Soundwave's frame from helm to pede. And he wanted to. To clean Soundwave until he gleamed.

\--It's real. I promise. And I'll do my best to convince you.—

The telepath leaned into the touch as grime and particulates were loosened enough to wash away, it felt like catharsis… Like forgiveness, and, if he had to be overly dramatic, re-creation. Soundwave could not honestly remember the last time he had felt clean, the wash racks had not been reliable on the Nemesis since they had crashed in the ocean and no one seemed to think them important to repair.

\--I believe you, you are the only real thing in this mess,-- in the confusion Bluestreak was the only still point, the one that had set it in motion yes, but also the one that had stayed.

\--This feels so good, so good,-- he purred mind to mind.

Bluestreak's mind instantly supplied him with the image of Soundwave taking him up against the washrack wall.

It was a pleasant image, one that he kept and tucked away after it flashed around. --I don't suppose you'd be interested...--

Fragging in one of the most open places on the Ark might not be what Soundwave was interested in doing. Bluestreak wouldn't blame him either, though his doorwings shuddered anyway.

\--I… might be,-- it was a risk, one he was well aware of, one that brought tension to his frame. The tension was not fear only though, the idea of claiming Bluestreak publicly… for himself and his younglings? Well, it was not a bad one, not a bad one at all!

Soundwave was pushed under the strongest part of the spray, letting the last of the solvent drip down the drain and replacing the brush and cloth on their hooks.

\--You might be?-- Bluestreak offered another image, of himself down on knee joints, both of them dripping wet, with Soundwave's hands braced against the wall as he sucked the navy mech off.

A thick field flared at that idea, then rippled with stark arousal as he considered the mutual claim. Want, need… and Bluestreak had offered him a future. Free of war, full of mutual need and the possibility of mutual love for new younglings. Maybe even for each other?

\--I am, I… want?--

\--Maybe we could break in your quarters...-- An image of Bluestreak on his knees over the bench, looking back at Soundwave over a shoulder rocket.

It was appealing, to be able to show Soundwave so many ways to connect, while connecting at the same time. Strange, even though this was how his own processor worked, to know that what he saw, someone else did as well.

Strange, but hot as well.

He walked fingers up Soundwave's arm to stroke down his tape deck. --I want—

Vents hitching Soundwave returned the image of himself flat on a berth, bound and ridden by the smaller doorwinged mech. The same image Bluestreak had offered him on the Nemesis. Then he turned completely and gathered the smaller frame against himself, bending to nuzzle… offer a kiss.

\--Anything, anywhere, I am not afraid to let others know.—

Bluestreak let himself relax against the larger mech. Returning the kiss with slow movements.

He purred his engine, licking a line over Soundwave's lips, then pulled back and turned off the water with a click.

"Then how about we go back to quarters and you..." --Claim me.—

\--Yes,-- this time Soundwave would do so, and hopefully have it done in return too. Drying off was a sloppy affair, as he cared little for his finish, he was clean and that was all that mattered to him in this instance. Clean… no grime, no sticky energon from the floor of an interrogation room.

“Lead us?” he held out his hand for Bluestreak to take. Claim he would, overpower, control? No, that was not what he wanted at all. He tried to convey the difference with his field, his mind.

That surprised the grey mech a little. Not dominate?

He didn't understand the difference between the words. They seemed to correlate. Claim, overpower, take control of. Wasn't that what happened?

Bluestreak was no submissive. He refused to get involved in deep trust games, because he didn't trust. Not deeply enough to give over his frame for that kind of punishment willingly. Not enough to let himself be bound willingly.

But he'd defer here and take Soundwave's hand and pull him along.

Confusion, ah, the young. And yes, Bluestreak was young, and very much a product of the war. Just like his own younglings were marked by it, so was the young Praxian.

\--A claim has nothing to do with dominance. It is a promise, to hold, to care, to build on,-- building a future for himself, his younglings and Bluestreak required him to invest in the younger mech. Demanded that he claim him, showed him what he could give. But ultimately it was merely the physical part of what made a relationship.

“Soundwave will claim, but Bluestreak must decided the future,” he smiled a little wistfully, giving back the images the smaller mech had filled his processor with. Making love, having a family, being together… his field flaring with a potent mix of physical desire and mental want.

The rush of want that flooded through Bluestreak was so strong that he dropped Soundwave's hand to clutch at his hood.

He hadn't understood. He hadn't understood.

To him a claim was a promise, but it wasn't for a future. It was a staked, marked bot for now, to offer comfort and pleasure in the moment. A passing thing, something that they could lose themselves in, during wartime.

But a future... Was there even future beyond war?

He didn't know... and that scared him the most. That he might get involved and then have to watch one of them die.

Soundwave stopped and turned to the other, helmet cooked to the side.

“I will fight to end the war, I will fight to make a future beyond the war,” for his younglings, because they needed it. For Bluestreak, because a mech like him deserved it. For himself because his younglings needed him, and because there was a chance that Bluestreak might need him. If the Praxian allowed himself to need it.

\--I demand no promises, I only offer them,-- because he wanted to, because Bluestreak had given him back hope.

This was territory that was new. Completely new. Thinking about the end of the war was a dream.

For Bluestreak, it had always been one.

Feeling the desire for it to be a reality, for the possibility of reality, scared him enough that he shied away. He didn't understand how to deal with it, with the emotions it invoked.

But Soundwave was offering, and he was trying, trying to accept that there was a promise of something beyond the here, the now.

Images, those were dreams. How could he offer reality, when all he had were dreams?

\--I want to try—

\--I would never ask for more than that!— asking for more would be cruel and futile, who in a war like this could promise more than to try? Soundwave was old enough to know better, old enough to know when he should stop asking and just do. Stepping up to the young mech he hugged him close, kissing him chastely, though his field still promised all the passion, and the claim, if and when Bluestreak wanted it.

The thought of it flooded the gunner’s mind again, but this time he didn't pull back. He pressed up into the kiss and just let himself be.

Yes, he was terrified. Yes he hadn't understood what Soundwave had actually meant, but he wanted just the same.

\--Please-- Please. Please claim me. Please let me claim you. Things he couldn't accurately represent in imagery and his processor tried to tilt into the correct interpretation.

The room was close, and that was enough for him to Bluestreak to pull them both into. To close the door and put his back to it, pulling Soundwave again into him.

\--I want it. All of it. I want that claim—

\--You will have it,-- Soundwave let the physical desire he had held back flare out in both field and chassis. Lifting the smaller mech he encouraged him to wrap his legs around his waist. Wall, door, wall was good, he could work with that as long as he got a bit of help.

“You will have me,” for him mind to mind meant more, but for most mechs words spoken aloud was needed. Soundwave wasn’t able to register what Bluestreak needed right now, beyond the physical. “Open for me.” 

The field over Bluestreak’s shot arousal from mild to full bore in astroseconds. Legs wrapped around Soundwave's hips and pulled them flush, arms wrapping and tugging, mouth open with panting vents as he reached for a kiss.

His lower panel snikked aside and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such a pure desire. It banked against his fires, sending him deep into need with so little effort it was almost disorienting. Processor twisting, field flaring and spark burning.

\--Everything. Everything you want is yours and I want everything in return and it doesn't have to be now but I want it and I need it and I'll do my best to make sure that you have everything you need or want and thank you I want you I need you oh please—

Pressurizing into a lover was not the smartest thing to do, but Soundwave wasn’t really thinking past the storm their mutual desire had created. And he did not stop, for he only met wet heat that matched their mental state perfectly.

\--You have it all, Bluestreak, you’ve had it since your first offer,-- for all that he had tried to protest. Well, he was not protesting anymore, rather growling as he moved his hips in short, harsh thrusts.

There was a slight twinge of pain in the younger mech’s valve, but it was lost in the wave of pleasure that came after it. He felt a possessiveness crash down that centered in on Soundwave. On that offer of family and future.

\--All of it. All of you. Mine. I want you. I want to hold you and them and walk around hand in hand and I want to show everyone-- Everyone. The Autobots and Decepticons alike --Show everyone that you're mine and I'm yours and there isn't anything they can do about it.--

It was a rage. A roar. His processor locking on to it, fixating.

\--Claim/mine/yours/want/spark/frame/all—

\--All!—Soundwave affirmed, eagerly opening himself up to the mental claim, reveling in feeling possessiveness towards himself that had nothing to do with what he could do, or what value he might have in the war. Possessiveness towards his littles that had nothing to do with their potential value if used in the war, or against him.

\--You will be mine, we will be one,-- spark, frame, all. Partners, lovers, creators, now, in the future. He pressed his dermas against Bluestreak’s, muffling his own growls as he tried to remember how to kiss when what he really wanted to do was blabber, bite… verbally affirm his claim and make it visible for a while.

-All!-

And Bluestreak ground down on Soundwave and crushed their lips together with a tightening of arms. Working his mouth desperately, glossa reaching out to tangle with the other mech's.

Everything about this was too perfect. For Bluestreak, who'd never given thought to bonding. To sharing. Who'd never bared his own spark to anyone other than Ratchet, for as many as he'd had his hands in. It was so hard to keep himself together.

The need to open, to be open, was there. Was offered as well.

Soundwave didn’t even try to keep his response back, his chest plates splitting open to reveal his spark. It was a more complicated process than normal because of his tape deck but that just meant that Bluestreak had a moment longer to consider. It was not like they were going to bond now, just share; themselves, the pleasure… their dreams. It was enough for Soundwave for all that he longed for the more of the future.

There was the telltale sound of transformation and fear gripped the gunner. It was intense, and his optics shuttered as he fought with his own protocols to open his own chamber.

The hinges creaked. They'd been broken once, never repaired, and he had to reach down to push them fully open. --I'm not...--

Even in his mind he couldn't find the words, the images or impressions to show or tell Soundwave why he was terrified. Not only that he'd never shared sparks before...

But when his spark chamber finally opened, he trembled and quivered. Grooves ran through the entirety of the chamber, dug out by his own fingers. The crystal scratched and marred and everything coated with an old layer of dried energon.

And it hurt to bear himself. Even as he cried out for connection.

\--Oh Blue’,-- self-inflicted or done to him, he couldn’t see it nor was this the time to examine it. Soundwave leaned forward, taking the invitation that was there under all the layers of fear, pain and physical desire. He did not invade, he did not take… just brushed, offered and soothed. They were not bonding, but he had been asked to claim, and Bluestreak had offered, he could not go back on his promise or take less than was given.

\--When you are ready, never before that. I promise, only when you are ready.--

His crystal rattled, but a wave of tentative longing reached out. He didn't know what he was doing, or how to do it. --Please, I don't know...--

There was a slight embarrassment, though not much. A desire to offer of himself that grew stronger with each passing klick. He wanted to do this, for all his problems and issues. He wanted to connect…

He just didn't know how.

\--It is simple, just press close… that is all this needs,-- Soundwave ‘spoke’ gently, doing his best to let Bluestreak chose on his own. There was no force here, it could not be done with force nor did he want to even attempt it.

\--Only when you are ready for it, I won’t be disappointed if it is not now,-- he would not, not truly. Better to wait if that was what was needed.

But Bluestreak didn't want to wait. He wanted to feel, to give Soundwave his own promise as best as he could. He clenched his valve down and pulled his chest in a little. Trying to, earnestly trying, to offer the pleasure, the desire back.

\--I want to. I want to, I do.— 

\--That is enough,-- it was enough, enough for their sparks to touch, the coronas flirting just like their fields were. Just so very much more intense and full of touches of present and past. Random, since Soundwave had no wish to take this experience from his younger lover… partner.

Bluestreak nearly lost his grip on Soundwave when their sparks brushed. The surge of intense electricity... he couldn't even describe properly how much, how different, the pleasure washed over him.

Hands resecured themselves and he arched up on instinct, pushing them closer and closer until he was so lost in the feeling that he couldn't control it.

And he couldn't find it in himself to acknowledge the fear that came with that. Soundwave was, had been, truthful and honorable the whole time. From the brig, to bringing him back to the Autobots and now, here, Bluestreak tried to tap that enormity. The gauge of what he'd tried to grasp, the want that he'd tried to furnish...

His voice cried out, a long sound of pleasure.

\--There is nothing wrong with being afraid, nothing wrong with distrust… I am a stranger,-- and would be for a long time yet. Or perhaps not such a long time, it was hard to judge as off kilter as he was currently. It was not every orn you upped and left everything behind for a mech who had… well.

\--I don’t know what it is about you,-- Soundwave kissed the throat that had been bared to him, muttering sub vocally though he had no idea what he was saying.

That fear wouldn't go away for a while, it couldn't. Too many vorn had been spent trying not to die for it to do so. Even as he'd tried his hardest, and on some occasions even succeeded, in shooting cassettes and Soundwave alike.

That couldn't not factor in. War couldn't not factor in. A stranger. An enemy. Someone who'd more than once tried to kill everyone he held dear.

But Bluestreak had also felt Soundwave. He'd gone from offering a seduction to buy him time to offering something that would require ages of work and healing for both of them.

He couldn't find it in himself to push that away.

\--I want what you can give me. I want to give it back. I want you and your bits and a family and I want you buried in me as much as physically possible and I don't care where. I want to claim you and be claimed and I don't care who you 'face as long as at the end of the day I can stay with you and want you and everything that I can have is here...-

\--It will be, it will always be yours,-- theirs were not precisely a monogamous species, not at least the way humans professed to be. But mates were… mates. Interfacing was interfacing but merging was kept between and for mates when mating had been agreed upon. It was what Bluestreak wanted and it was what he would have, for as long as he wanted it or until they bonded. If that happened it would be forever, that was how things worked.

\--You are mine now, and I am yours, my younglings are yours… all parts of my life and spark you want are yours. The claim has been made,-- Soundwave had no problem promising these things, they were not dictated by the pleasure he felt. Bluestreak was offering him a future, and he would be damned if he would let the past stand between him and that offer.

Bluestreak’s newly awakened understanding of Soundwave's offering drudged up his own traditions. Memories and broken fragments of something that had once been untempered knowledge of culture. He hadn't understood claims, but he had something that might offer equal value back.

One arm unwrapped from Soundwave's neck to touch the last two fingers to his chevron, words echoing in ancient glyphs between them.

\--Be mine and all your needs shall be cared for, all your worries taken on as my own. Be mine and we shall work in harmony, as twined together as the spires that guard and sing to our sparks.—

\--I am yours,-- It was confirmed elatedly, not truly understanding the power behind the words but knowing they meant something very special to Bluestreak. A counter claim, he did not at all mind that! And he had belonged to the praxian youth the moment the mech had cut his own lines open rather than cut him…

\--Will be yours for as long as you want me, us.--

His mind supplied the traditional acceptance, his spark exploded with happiness. A trill was muffled between them as he kissed Soundwave again and again. Until all he could think was -Yes thank you always forever want have home thank you—

Everything tightened. Arms, legs calipers, mouth. Tightened and held on like they were required to do so or Soundwave would disappear in a puff of smoke and he'd be left here alone.

His hips hitched and ground against navy ones, moans and cries of pleasure and joy slipping in as he worked what little leverage he had pressed up against the door.

\--Forever and ever and mine ours us family want want wantwantwant—

Soundwave growled and picked up his pace, flooding the tentative mind and spark links with joy, need and pure desire for overload. He’d lost any sense of where they were and who might hear, nothing mattered but the mech he was buried in, physically and mentally. Assuring that his claim was valid and that the counterclaim would be remembered.

Presenting the new co-Creator for his younglings would be interesting… but he did not fear it. Nor could he devote much attention to it at this moment in time.

And Bluestreak took everything Soundwave offered.

Clenching around that spike, trying to pull it in further with rolling calipers, with rolling hips.

His mind refused to stop. A litany of words erupting and melting into each other, all centered on this, on here, on them. Not love, but respect and admiration and the need for that much back and trilling in pleasured acceptance of Soundwave's own thoughts.

Claimed. Claim.

There was not one part of him that objected, and not one part of him that could do anything but writhe against the cassette mech holding him to the door.

It could not last forever, not the way they were going at it, grasping for it like they might stop functioning unless they reached it. Soundwave welcomed it, the blinding, shearing light of overload… the fall into oblivion, tightly bound to another. It was everything he had missed, everything he had hoped for…

“Bluestreak…”

Loud. The gunner was loud. So loud that his vocalizer cracked in the middle of Soundwave's name and probably half of the Ark heard his cries.

"Sound~~~Wave!"

His field fractured, prismatic, and shattered. Drenched in the feeling of how right this felt. Helm crashing into the door as he whited out, processor tripping and circuits sparking and it went on so long that he couldn't tell if he was even still alive so much burning pleasure seared through him.

 

***********

Soundwave was on his knees when he came back to himself, Bluestreak still clinging to him, still seated on him. Their chests had closed up, as they should, but they were no less intimate for it… fields meshed, minds touching.

At peace…

It was wonderful, so very, very wonderful…

When the sniper let himself rise out of that haze of pleasurable afterglow, twinges of pain pulsed over his spark and chestplating. He tried to ignore them, tucking his helm into Soundwave's neck cables. Venting in a tremblingly shy way, something that he attributed to being held so carefully by such a powerful mech.

Optics still off, he just rested. Waiting for systems to cool down and motor functions to reset.

Safe. Warmth. Protected.

\--It is only natural,-- Soundwave did not add ‘with your scarring’, he hardly had to. Besides it was not only because of the scarring, it had been the younger mech’s first merge; there was always a price for the first try at something. His mind voice was low, soothing and as calm as the rest of him. It would be impossible to be anything else at this moment in time.

\--Berth?-- because he needed recharge, Bluestreak needed it too and the door had seen enough abuse for now.

Berth, yes. Berth was good.

"Can I stay?"

Habit to ask. Most of the time he faced it didn't involve staying the night.

He wanted to stay, to curl around Soundwave, but if the other wanted some time alone, he would leave quietly.

As soon as his legs worked properly

“Every night if you want to,” the voice sounded odd without his mask on and with the very real projection of gratitude and pleasure in it. He meant it, he wanted that… someone to curl up with, to wake up with. Soundwave was not in the least confused about what he wanted, what he needed from Bluestreak, but he would not press it on the younger mech.

They had time… lots of time, to heal, for the Praxian to be young in.

That admission made Bluestreak’s spark flare and his optics online in a surge of static.

Carefully, he pushed back Soundwave's shoulders and looked at him, really searching faceplates with his visual feed.

It helped that the mask was gone and he could see the play of the other mech's mouth. For a frametype that relied on so much nonverbal communication, even the littlest things were important. Could tell him what he needed to know.

And it was there. That honest sincerity. Humbling all the more so because of who Bluestreak was. Because of who Soundwave was.

A vent, and he leaned back in to kiss Soundwave. "Thank you."

He did not say that there was no need to thank him, Bluestreak needed to do it and that was validation enough. Instead he just kissed back, slowly, enjoying the contact that was just that, contact. Not a quest for more or a pressure, but freely given just to be a kiss.

\--Berth,-- he reminded gently and moved back from the smaller mech with a smile on his derma.

A twist of a grin, and Bluestreak pushed his hydraulics to activate and lift him off Soundwave, shuddering when the larger mech slipped free and lubricant splattered down against white thighs and the floor..

The thought of cleaning them up with his glossa passed through his processor, but he only shifted to the side and offered his hand. Not that the other needed his help to get up, but because of the connection that was fast becoming an addiction that he had no intention of breaking.

A mess… but who cared really? Soundwave took the offered hand, but more to have an excuse to pull Bluestreak to him as they made their slow way to the berth. The world could wait till after recharge, so could cleaning up…

Right now he just wanted to lie down and cuddle, and it was nice, intimate, to walk pressed to someone. To have to accommodate for their movements over your own.

Doorwings meant that the Praxian had to lay on his side with them off the berth to cuddle, but that also meant that they were face to face and he could indulge in another kiss.

Languid. Soft. Welcoming.

“Must get a flier berth,” the murmur was tired, Soundwave was not really online. The observation was made on the edge of falling entirely into his cycle and was followed by an uncoordinated but gentle touch to one doorwing.

"I'm alright... Nothing I'm not used to..."

The touch was nice and he reciprocated by tucking his helm into Soundwave's neck cabling. Venting in and out in increasingly lengthening measures, his own systems more than eager the power down next to the other mech.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t dote on you,” since that was his task for now. To dote, to heal, to love… well, love might come, for now it was need both emotional and physical. But it was nothing to think on now, he was almost in cycle… almost…

**Author's Note:**

> This is an RP between Xobit and I. I did go through and try to mesh it, however any and all issues and typos remaining are my fault and I'm sorreeeee. ^.^;
> 
> Shameless, at this point mostly plotless, and utterly delightful porn~


End file.
